Skeletons
by knowname
Summary: Snape has a lot of past baggage, ghosts, skeletons... issues, if you will. All of which haunt him each night as he lays his head down to sleep. With nightmares like these, it's no wonder he's so cranky in the morning.


**Title**: Skeletons

**Summary**: Snape has a lot of past baggage, ghosts, skeletons..._ issues_, if you will. All of which still haunt him every night when he lays his head down to sleep. With a history like his, it's no wonder he looks so pasty and cruel each morning.

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**The Rival**

It was cold, in this dark tunnel; Severus could feel the cool soil through the soles of his shoes. He felt he had been walking for hours; surely there must be some sort of exit soon. In the distance he thought he could hear something. A low wooing of sorts. Onward he walked, following his wand light farther and father away from the school grounds. With each step he wracked his brain, trying to remember what was awaiting him. He knew these dark, murky tunnel walls, yet he could not place when he had been here before. He knew that answers laid where the tunnel ceased, but he could not remember the question.

Finally the darkness thinned and Severus slowed his step. Light was pouring into the passage through a ragged hole in the dirt wall. Excitement bubbled in his stomach, the answer awaited him. This would solve everything, this would be enough evidence to prove his point, this would show Lily. But show her what, exactly? What was the damned question?

He stepped closer to the opening, lowering his wand and muttering _knox_. He heard something crash beyond the hole. The tunnel was still for a moment again before the atmosphere exploded with the sound of wood splitting mixed with glass shattering. Snape could not help but jump back a few steps, his heart catching in his throat, his excitement quickly vanishing. There was silence once more, and he was aware of his body moving closer to the opening despite the fear that held his mind still. As he strained his ears in the silence, he could hear a faint scuffling nose. Dry scratching? No. Faint, wet, gnawing. The sound of something biting. Saliva working with jaws chomping at flesh. The sound grew louder and wetter. Snape imagined a large set of teeth drawing blood and splattering it as the chewing continued. The image of a stray dog that hung around Spinner's End appeared in his head, and he remembered watching the mutt chew at his itchy, wet, fur in the summer heat. His memory of the dog seemed so relevant, relevant to the unknown question in his head. He returned his focus to the tunnel and realized that the chewing had stopped. He pressed his forehead into the hole to get a better look of the room that was beyond it. His heart stopped when the whole tunnel was engulfed in a deep howl.

_Awoooooooooooooooooooo_

The howl cooed with pain, remorse, agony, anguish, and hunger. Hunger. A set of yellow eyes locked with Snape's in the darkness and he suddenly remembered the question that needed answering and those eyes were the answer. The eyes narrowed, preparing to pounce and Snape knew he was done for. He turned to run, but his feet were weights stuck to the ground. He dragged them with all his might, feeling as though he running through quicksand. He heard the beast pounce at the hole to the passage way. His back began to tingle with pain and he dared not look behind him. Finally he was able to move his feet and run. He ran with all his might it felt as though he was flying back through the tunnel. Wait. No. He wasn't running or flying, he was being carried. He was being carried by a huge set of antlers that belonged to a massive buck-like animal. As they galloped through the darkness the howls behind them disappeared.

Snape saw the moonlit entrance to the tunnel ahead of them. With a jolt he was thrown forward and flying through the small opening between the roots of the Womping Willow. It did not hurt like it should have when he hit the ground. Instead the soft green grass welcomed his body like a pillow. He dared not open his eyes to the angry willow's branches that would be thrashing at him. When the trees's blows did not come after a moment of him waiting in anticipation, he slowly opened his eyes. They narrowed in loathing and disgust at the sight hovering above him. Worse than a werewolf, worse than massive beating branches, was James Potter's face staring back at him. The rumpled black hair, the devious smirk playing at his lips. Snape crawled backwards away from the young man, putting enough space between them so he could pull out his wand and point it at him. James stood where he was, and when Snape was sure he was not going to hex him he hastily brought himself to his feet.

He quickly brushed his long hair out of his eyes and raised his wand toward James once more, looking him dead in the eyes. Wait. It wasn't James Potter standing before him, it was his son. Snape stared into his emerald eyes, mesmerized that he didn't realize this before. He was only vaguely aware of Harry raising his wand and mouthing something he would have recognized if he'd been paying attention.

With a flash, his body twisted with the sensation of being pulled upside down and he squeezed his eyes shut once more. He heard himself gasp and when he opened them again he saw nothing but his dark bedchamber. He realized he was sitting up in his bed, panting and gasping at the stone walls of the dungeon.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and caught his breadth again before returning his head to his pillow. He shifted to his side, disgruntled by the nightmare, and closed his eyes. "Potter," he grumbled. He let his mind browse through some particularly difficult and disastrous potions he would have the boy conjure up in the class the next day before finally falling back to sleep.

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